Her type of lover
Sequel to my 'Stay Molly, please.'
Just something short. Hope you like it.
It was a Saturday night. A glass of red wine in hand and the curly head of Mr. Detective on her lap, life was good. Taking a sip of her drink, Molly Hooper took a glance at Sherlock. He was fast sleep on her lap. He passed out actually.
It's been a rough week for him. Running after criminals, solving cases, and restless nights made Sherlock pass out on his pathologist sofa.
Molly ran a hand through his messy curls and smiled to herself. The heartless detective actually cared about people. They always misunderstood him. She was aware of the fact that he has been busy all the week and all he needed was a shower, some Chinese take away, and a cozy bed to sleep in. It was sweet of him to offer to spend the night in her place watching one of her favorite TV series together, which he stated as crap telly according to John.
He showed up at her door with two bags chips and fish and with one of his rare smile. Molly finally could taste the famous chips and fish that once he offered her. They sat down on her rather comfortable sofa, chips and fish and two glass of red wine on a smile table in front of them. Sherlock was obviously bored since the five minutes of the show started but didn't complain. He gave Molly a smile and laid his head down on her lap claiming it was more comfortable watching telly in this position. It didn't took him long before falling into a deep asleep, the sound of his soft snores filling the room.
Molly turned the volume down and nipped on her chips and fish. It was delicious. His head weighting on her lap was… pleasant.
Being in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes wasn't easy. He wasn't like other men she had been with before. He rarely gave her a compliment about her appearance, and when he did it was simple and honest. He didn't always take her out to fancy places. He didn't say I love you every other hour.
His way of showing affection was different. There were a few things he would do that Molly knew it meant he cared. He smiled at her a lot. He gave her these little short physical touches, a hand on her shoulder, a hand on her lower back leading her outside. He texted simple and short messages asking if there is any body parts that he could take from her. Which would be translate as, do you have time? I want to see you.
Sherlock Holmes way of showing love was unique. And nobody but his pathologist could understand and get along with it. After all he was her type of lover.